Chapter 107: It’s Feels Unreal

The private jet leveled off at cruising altitude, the faint, comforting hum of the engines filling the luxurious cabin. The flight from our side of the world to Tokyo was roughly ten hours, giving us plenty of time to kill.

While the flight attendants kept the plush leather seating refreshed with cold drinks, I lounged back in one of the executive recliners, turning on the high-definition display mounted on the cabin wall. I hooked up a console controller, kicking back to play a casual session of a high-speed racing game to pass the time.

About three hours into the flight, the door to the private sleeping suite opened, and Patricia stepped out. She was wearing a oversized, ultra-soft silk loungewear set provided onboard, but her face looked slightly pale, her hands resting against her stomach.

She walked over to where I was sitting, leaning slightly against the back of my seat with a soft, embarrassed grimace.

"Hey..." she murmured quietly, her voice sounding a little weak over the hum of the jet. "Ethan? I... I think I’m feeling a bit plane sick."

I immediately paused my game, setting the controller aside and looking up at her with concern. "Motion sickness hitting you?"

"A little bit," she admitted, rubbing her temple. "The turbulence back in the suite felt a little disorienting, and my head is spinning a bit. I tried sleeping, but it’s just not working."

I stood up and gently pulled out the wide, double-wide leather lounger right beside mine, tossing a warm cashmere blanket over it.

"Come here," I said softly, guiding her over. "You don’t have to stay tucked away in the back alone. Stay right here with me. It’s smoother in the main cabin, and you can just rest while I keep you company."

She didn’t argue. She carefully sank into the plush seat beside me, wrapping the heavy blanket around her shoulders and letting out a long, quiet sigh of relief as she leaned her head back against the cushion, close to where I was sitting.

She rested her head against the plush leather headrest, her eyes watching the vibrant colors of the racing game flash across the screen. The smooth movement of the jet and the quiet atmosphere of the cabin seemed to settle her stomach, but I could tell her mind was working through something else entirely.

She spoke up, her tone soft and tentative, like she was carefully testing the waters before stepping further.

"Ethan?" she murmured, pulling the cashmere blanket a little tighter around her shoulders. "Are you... sure your girlfriend is okay with all of this? You traveling with me, taking care of my situation like this?"

I didn’t even break my focus on the screen, letting out an easy, relaxed chuckle. "Why wouldn’t she be fine with it? She knows who I am, and she knows I’m helping out a friend."

Patricia blinked, a look of genuine surprise washing over her pale face. "Woah," she breathed, letting out a soft laugh. "She must be an incredibly nice and trusting person."

"She really is," I agreed with a warm smile, thinking of Chloe’s complete confidence and her tireless effort to dismantle Patricia’s predatory contract from afar. "She’s one of a kind."

Patricia nodded quietly, a faint, reassured smile touching her lips. As the cabin pressure stabilized, the lingering motion sickness finally began to fade, and before long, the sheer physical exhaustion of her past few weeks caught up to her. Her eyelids grew heavy, and she drifted off into a deep, peaceful sleep right beside me.

Hours blurred by in the quiet hum of the cabin.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have begun our descent into Tokyo Haneda Airport. Please ensure your seatbelts are securely fastened."

The gentle chime of the cabin announcement echoed softly through the speakers, snapping Patricia awake. She blinked against the dim cabin lights, stretching her arms with a groggy yawn as she realized she had slept through almost the entire cross-Pacific flight.

She looked out the oval window beside us. Through the low cloud cover, the dazzling, endless sea of neon lights and modern skyscrapers of Tokyo at night stretched out as far as the eye could see.

"We’re actually here..." she whispered, her voice filled with quiet awe as the private jet banked smoothly toward the runway.

The wheels touched down smoothly on the tarmac at Haneda, and within minutes of taxicab rolling to a stop at the private terminal, our luxury transport was already waiting.

An immaculate black limousine, flanked by two subtle escort vehicles, whisked us off the airfield and onto the Tokyo expressway. Outside the tinted windows, the vibrant neon architecture of the city blurred past, slowly giving way to the serene, forested hills on the quiet outer edge of the metropolis.

We pulled through a massive, traditional wooden gate into the grounds of the luxury estate. The entire resort was an absolute masterpiece of traditional Japanese architecture blended with modern high-end hospitality—sprawling bamboo gardens, glowing stone lanterns, and natural hot spring steam drifting lazily into the cool night air.

The moment our car door was opened, the estate’s head manager and a troupe of attendants in traditional silk kimonos stood in a pristine line, bowing deeply in welcome.

"Welcome to the estate, Mr. Ethan, Miss Patricia," the manager greeted us smoothly in flawless English, gesturing for the staff to handle our luggage with white-gloved care. "We have prepared the master private pavilion for your stay. Everything has been tailored precisely to your Zenith promotional package."

Patricia stood beside me, completely spellbound as two personal attendants guided us down a smooth stone walkway toward our private wing. They led us through sliding shoji doors into a vast, minimalist suite equipped with heated hardwood floors, cedarwood baths, and a private outdoor onsen overlooking a secluded rock garden.

"If you require anything at all—custom herbal teas, specialized deep-tissue therapists, or late-night dining—your dedicated attendants are at your service twenty-four hours a day," the manager added with another respectful bow before stepping back to give us our space.

Patricia walked out onto the wooden veranda, taking a deep breath of the crisp, hot-spring-scented air. The lingering exhaustion from her grueling kitchen shifts finally seemed to completely vanish from her posture.

"Ethan..." she murmured softly, looking back at me with a radiant, peaceful smile. "This place doesn’t even feel real."

"It’s very real," I smiled, leaning against the doorframe. "And for the next seven days, you don’t have to think about a single receipt, shift, or contract."